"No, no," she answered. "You can't do that, Roger. You can't." His face whitened. Then, with his piercing eyes bent on her as though to read her inmost thoughts, he asked: "What do you mean? Is there--anyone else?" "Yes." The answer came very low. "And you care for him?" She nodded. "But we can never be anything to each other," she said, still in that same low, emotionless voice. "Then--then--you'd grow to care--" "No. I shall never care for anyone else again. That love has burnt up everything--like a fire." She paused. "You don't want to marry--an empty grate, do you?" she asked, with a sudden desperate little laugh. Roger's arm drew her closer. "Yes, I do. And I'll light another fire there and by its warmth we'll make our home together. I won't ask much, Nan dear--only to be allowed to love you and make you happy. And in time--in time, I'll teach you to love me in return and to forget the past. Only say yes, sweetheart! I'll keep you so safe--so safe!" What magic is it teaches men how to answer the women they love--endows them with a quickness of perception denied them till the flame of love flares up within them, and doubly denied them should that flame burn low behind the bars of matrimony? Surely it must be some cunning wile of old Dame Nature's--whose chief concern is, after all, the continuation of the species. She it is who knows how to deck the peacock in fine feathers to the undoing of the plain little peahen, to crown the stag with the antlers of magnificence so that the doe's velvet eyes melt in adoration. And shall not the same wise old Dame know how to add a glamour to the sons of men when one of them goes forth to seek his mate? Had Roger been just his normal self that afternoon--his matter-of-fact, imperceptive self--he would never have known how to answer Nan's half-desperate question, and the rose-garden might have witnessed a different ending to the scene. But Mother Mature was fighting on the side of this man-child of hers, whispering her age-old wisdom into his ears, and the tender comprehension of his answer fell like balm on Nan's sore heart. "I'll keep you safe!" It was safety she craved most of all--the safety of some stronger barrier betwixt herself and Peter. Once she were Roger's wife she knew she would be well-guarded. The barrier would be too high for her to climb, even though Peter called to her from the other side. A momentary terror of giving up her freedom assailed her, and for an instant she wavered. Then she remembered her bargain with Fate--and if, finally, Roger were willing to take her when he knew everything, she would marry him. Her hand crept out and slid into his big palm. "Very well, Roger," she said quietly. "If--knowing everything--you still want me . . . I'll marry you." And as his arms closed round her, crushing her in his embrace, she seemed to hear a distant sound like the closing of a door--the door of the forbidden might-have-been. CHAPTER XIII